


The Darklands That Shape Us

by DarkRot



Series: Afraid of the Dark (AU) [1]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters, Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Changelings, Dicrot, Goblins, M/M, Mental Abuse, Nyarlagroths, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, THERE WILL BE ABUSE: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, The upsetting content will start getting heavy in chapter 3 just warning you, Will add more tags when the time suits it, guntatious, stalkling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-11-24 10:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18164063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkRot/pseuds/DarkRot
Summary: Angor Rot was never supposed to end up here. And yet, in the Darklands he finds himself stuck. With Gumm-Gumms. What wonderful company.





	1. Two birds, one stone

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aiming for this to be the first of a 3-part series, so we'll see how that goes! A special thanks to the encouragement from tumblr user gold-kobold and their friends to give me the gall to try posting this. (They're on AO3 as gold_kobold and their works are what inspired me!)

He had _one job._

Go to the Killahead Bridge, use the distraction of the Gumm-Gumms as a cover, and kill Deya the Deliverer. Their symbol of hope. Their ever-so-highly esteemed Trollhunter. From there, Gunmar and his army would wipe out the rest of these human-sympathising excuses for trolls. In the meantime, his...  _“Queen”…_  would take care of Merlin.

_Well, none of that went according to plan now did it, Morgana?_

_Nooooo,_ now he’s gone and been trapped in the Darklands alongside these _degenerate village-destroyers…_

Well, on the up side, Morgana’s voice that used to linger like an annoying mosquito buzzing around in his mind seemed to just… stop. Completely. Like the traverse between realms had cut off all contact with her. It could’ve been that, or maybe even Merlin had been able to defeat her? Either way, that voice in his head had gone silent.

Whether that was worth the trade-off of suddenly being trapped in this horrible place?

…… Angor Rot was undecided.

Still, he was a survivor. He would survive this.

He _will_ survive this. Gumm-Gumm-infested or not, he’ll… He’ll survive.

 

* * *

 

 

Angor Rot would soon discover Gumm-Gumms to be the least of his problems in this place. Goblins, nyarlagroths, even some fully-fledged changelings every now and again, he would find on his list of things to avoid.

But the nyarlagroths were truly the worst.

Not only were they everywhere, but they were big, territorial, and had no obvious weaknesses to exploit. The extents of his magical abilities had kept him alive against them for the first years of this entrapment, just _barely_ , but discovering their strong disdain for Cimmerian fruit was a blessing that made the following decades so much easier.

So, he kept on surviving. He kept on avoiding all dangers of the Darklands for decades to come.

That is, until everything inevitably went wrong like it always does.

 

* * *

 

Gumm-Gumm soldiers are _dumb_. It’s a wonder all that armor doesn’t keep them alive for _at least_ more than two seconds in battle. Angor Rot can’t even count all the patrolling idiots he’s offed over the years for getting to close to wherever he laid his temporary camps.

But, admittedly, fighting hordes of them at once proved to be a bit more of a challenge.

Angor Rot was kicking himself as the fight went on. He should’ve left this camp setup yesterday like he’d planned. It was obvious the Gumm-Gumms would find the source of his campfire’s smoke eventually. Well, that’s what he gets for underestimating their directional skills.

He’d put up one hell of a fight, but in the end, they finally managed to restrain the magical assassin, though not without many losses.

With great struggle, the Gumm-Gumms were barely able to drag the thrashing assassin to their Underlord’s feet without losing hold of him. But when they got him in front of Gunmar, the summoning of his Decimar Blade finally stilled Angor Rot. A familiar weapon, one he’s seen used to slay friends and family alike. His rage-filled eyes glared up at the warlord in front of him, and he growled hatefully. Gunmar’s voice, hardened and dark, did nothing more than scoff.

“So… _this_ is the troll that’s been slaying our patrols.”

“That’s right, my lord.” The sharp, annoying voice of a winged female changeling, long hair and purple skin, near Gunmar confirmed. “I saw it from the skies.”

Angor Rot growled again, and so did Gunmar. The assassin tried to push back when the Decimar Blade was raised to his face, but his servants had too firm a hold on him.

“You have evaded us long enough.” Gunmar snarled. “The pathetic life you’ve spent killing my troops, you will now spend as one of them.”

The Decimar Blade started to glow, ready to change the entirety of Angor’s being into one of these hulking armoured shells. Angor Rot thrashed against their grip, but there was no chance of him getting away in time.

Just as it seemed he’d be lost to the blade’s magic, another voice spoke up.

“Wait!”

And just like that, Gunmar stopped. His blade lowered, and he turned to growl at the one to interrupt him. **“What?”**

The troll to step forward was…nothing more than a little conundrum. Angor Rot blinked a few times, unsure of what he just saw and heard. Did that little green thing just halt _Gunmar_ with no more than one word?

“He’s a sorcerer, m’lord. You saw just as I did the magic he used while fighting.” The conundrum explained. “His talents may be useful to us, but not if you turn him.”

Gunmar growled again, and didn’t look satisfied. But he let this troll walk over to their captive.

Speaking directly to Angor Rot now, the conundrum asked, “Do you know any healing magic?”

Angor Rot didn’t respond at all, just staying still and glaring daggers at them both.

“This is a waste of time, Dictatious.” Gunmar insisted, itching to return to what he was doing in the first place.

“Mm…Perhaps not…” Dictatious said with a contemplative frown and still watching Angor Rot “There’s a chance he may not understand…Let me try again.” He cleared his throat. “I may be a little rusty, but…”

Again, he repeated the question about healing magic. But this time, in an entirely foreign kind of Trollish than from what Gunmar knew.

The hostility drained from Angor Rot’s face to be replaced with surprise. “You know my people’s dialect?”

Before Dictatious had a chance to respond, Gunmar’s bellowing growl shook the area, and he stepped forward and raised his blade to Angor’s face again.

“And so _you_ speak common Trollish.” He annoyedly said. “ _Answer the question_.”

Hostility returned to Angor’s (dis)composure glaring at the Underlord. Less so when he looked at Dictatious again. “It is no specialty of mine…but I do know some.”

Better than nothing. Dictatious turned to Gunmar. “Why turn him into just one more to add to the masses when he could instead heal our injured? Many of our soldiers succumb to wounds that we haven’t the proper supplies to treat.” He reasoned. “If we were to have a healer that can use magic…”

Looking from the conundrum to the sorcerer, Gunmar weighed his options with a hand to his chin, grumbling in thought. He had wanted this pest to replace at least _one_ of the soldiers they had lost to him… But if he could instead save others they’d otherwise be letting die and dwindling their numbers even _more_ ……

“…Tie him up.” Gunmar ordered the changeling and then turned to lead his troops back to their base.

The Gumm-Gumms kept him still while the changeling did her thing. Angor Rot had mostly stopped resisting by then, since there wasn’t much point. His stare remained on Dictatious, who must’ve stayed behind to oversee that everything went as it was supposed to.

He knew Angor Rot was staring. But eye contact, he didn’t hold.

“Alright you brutes.” The changeling barked as she finished up. “Let’s get our new trinket back home, hmmm?”


	2. Adjust

Just because they managed to overpower him and drag him all the way over here doesn’t mean he was going to show any of them even an inkling of respect.

Especially not when they had him thrown in some kind of dungeon.

He’s seen this type of stone before, the odd orange-yellow glowing spikes being a sharp contrast to the regular hues of the Darklands…he didn’t even consider the possibility of them acting as cages.

No matter how he tried to slice or blast at the odd material, it stayed perfectly intact. How incredibly frustrating.

Angor Rot was distracted from his efforts to break out by the sound of approaching footsteps. Two Gumm-Gumms, carrying a third, and the conundrum, Dictatious, leading them.

“No Underlord today?” Angor Rot said, growling the second word as if it were a curse.

“He believes you’ve learned your lesson.” Dictatious calmly replied, opening the cage for his companions to throw the injured one inside, then closing it. “Get to work.”

Angor Rot snorted. But still, he pulled the soldier up against the wall for support, then went to working his magic on that vicious bitemark in his shoulder. A bad run-in with a nyarlagroth, obviously… it’s a miracle he’s still in one piece.

It was strange that Gunmar had already decided to stop overseeing this. Every other day this week, he’d come to watch personally, to make sure Angor didn’t try to escape or kill the injured Gumm-Gumms they gave him in his spite. Which, to his admission, he’d done a few times…but such acts were always punished by severe thrashings from Gunmar. Angor may be spiteful, but he was _very_   tired of being smacked around. So, still begrudgingly, he’d been doing what they expect of him the past few days.

Dictatious watched him work without saying anything, a mild curiosity in his six eyes. Angor Rot stared back, also not saying anything, then going back to his work.

“No scalding remarks today?” Dictatious then asked, brow raising questioningly. Whenever Gunmar was here, he’d previously made sure to spit out as many insults as he could.

“Not for you.” Angor Rot said, not looking up. Sensing the confusion from his watcher, he clarified. “I may not like you, but you _did_ save my life.”

The conundrum made a sharp exhale, like a short, disbelieving laugh. “I saved your _mind_.” He corrected. He looked away, subconsciously glancing up the stairs in the direction Gunmar would be. “Your life has only been further entrapped.”

Like he was on cue, Gunmar’s booming voice could be heard ordering Dictatious to the throne room.

Angor Rot caught the slight flinch the conundrum made at the sound, but he said nothing of it when Dictatious turned to him again with narrowed eyes. “Hurry it up.” Dictatious demanded of him.

Angor Rot snorted again. It only took him a few more seconds, but he got the Gumm-Gumm’s wound sealed.

The second he did, the other two Gumm-Gumms were in there, hauling their would’ve-been-dead companion out of there. Dictatious didn’t follow right away, giving Angor Rot one more squinting, confused look, but he didn’t stay long.

Angor Rot was alone again. Thank the Gods.

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t speak much. Or, at all for that matter. It was a cycle of mostly nonverbal communication. Not that there was much communication in the first place…The conundrum would come down here with injured Gumm-Gumms, Angor Rot would do his thing, they’d leave again. It was a simple cycle.

The only deviation from this behavior that Angor would sometimes notice was…a frequent limp. The conundrum would often be limping when he came down here, at least once a week. It was…odd… but this place IS very dangerous. Injuries are common, so Angor didn’t think much of it. The troll never asked for healing, so he assumed it was nothing too serious.

 

* * *

 

 

“How do you know the dialect of my village?”

The question caught Dictatious by surprise. Angor Rot’d been basically dead silent every other time he’s brought injured Gumm-Gumms down here for healing these past few months, so for him to initiate any sort of conversation was very unexpected.

“Pardon?”

“You speak my village’s dialect. How?” Angor Rot asked again, glancing up from the wounded soldier to stare at Dictatious through the cage’s spikes. “Our culture was basically erased when Gunmar wiped my people out.”

An odd choice for small talk, but Dictatious could understand Angor’s curiosity. “I…spent much of my spare time doing research, before coming here.” Dictatious explained. “Your village was one of my favorite places to study. I picked up as much of your Trollish branch as I could.”

Angor Rot looked a little surprised. “You spent much time there while we were still--? I don’t remember ever seeing you.”

“Heh, well I am good at hiding.” Dictatious smirked slightly. “That’s not to say I was _never_ spotted…but those I met knew I meant no harm.” He shrugged.

Angor began to look mistrustful. “So… you weren’t involved with Gunmar’s attacks back then?”

Dictatious raised an eyebrow, then looked away. “I… no. I was…saddened to find out the fate of that place.”

A silence hung between them for a while. Angor Rot turned his eyes back to the Gumm-Gumm he was healing.

“What got you so fascinated with us?” Angor Rot asked eventually, less mistrust in his voice like before.

“Gronka Morka, what _wasn’t_ fascinating?” Dictatious said in a small chuckle. “I don’t know if I could ever narrow it down to one thing…though, I must say, your people’s unique ability to tame stalklings has always been _one_ of the most interesting things about you.”

An almost invisible smile actually crossed Angor’s face at memories of his people, his stalklings, too. Dictatious must’ve noticed.

“You used to have one?”

“I had three.”

Dictatious’s jaw dropped. “Three?!” He exclaimed. “How on Earth did you control them all?”

Amused by his shock, Angor started to chuckle quietly, but he immediately went silent when he saw a familiar dark shadow looming in the stairway. Dictatious, his back having been turned from there and not seen him, basically jumped out of his skin at the sudden boom of the Underlord’s voice.

**“I do not send you down here to _socialize with the prisoner, Dictatious.”_**

Dictatious’s entire demeanor changed in a snap, turning to face Gunmar with a slight bow of the head. “Apologies, m’lord.” He said, his tone soft but also very tense.

Gunmar just snorted, making his way to the front of Angor’s cage. Angor Rot glared his usual hateful glare at him.

“Are you done?” Gunmar growled, pointing his stare at the soldier Angor had with him.

Just growling quietly at the Underlord, Angor Rot had to bite back making some comment he’d regret. He pushed the Gumm-Gumm towards the cage spikes. “There. He’ll live.”

Gunmar opened the cage, dragged the soldier out, and closed it again, basically throwing the soldier to his feet. He then growled at the conundrum, who’d winced at the hostility. “Come. There has been a development with the Janus Order.”

Dictatious nodded, following closely behind without so much as even one more glance Angor’s way.

Angor Rot watched them go with a tilted head and a frown.

 

* * *

 

 

Weeks that followed turned into more months, and Dictatious hadn’t spoken another word to Angor Rot whenever he was down there. They were back to their normal cycle.

It’s not like it was any skin off Angor’s back, so he didn’t much care one way or the other. Just continued doing what he needed to stay alive.

Despite what a miserable existence this was.

Though…there was one day where Angor eventually broke the cycle again.

 

 

Dictatious was limping far worse than usual, to the point where he had to support some of his weight on one of the able-bodied Gumm-Gumms. Each step Angor could see brought a wince of pain to his face.

As usual, they’d brought down an injured soldier for him to heal, threw the wounded into the cage, and Dictatious and the other soldiers waited outside the cell.

Angor Rot went on to his healing, but kept looking at Dictatious out of the corner of his eye. The conundrum wasn’t looking his way.

“…..I can heal you next, you know.” The sorcerer spoke up for the first time in months.

Dictatious’s ear twitched at his voice, but he didn’t give the other troll so much as a glance. “I don’t need it.”

“It’s obvious you’re hurt.” Angor Rot said, brows furrowing with confusion that he’d refuse the offer. “Am I not here for the sole purpose of healing the injured?”

Dictatious eventually looked at him, his eyes narrowed in an annoyed glare. “I said I don’t need it.” He repeated and growling.

The confused look stayed on Angor’s face remained. He looked back down at what he was doing. “Alright. If being in pain is what you prefer.”

There was another wince on Dictatious’s part at those words, but he let the short conversation drop where it was and he turned away.

Angor went back to just casting side glances every now and again.

But no more words were spoken between them. As usual.

 

* * *

 

 

It couldn’t’ve been more than three or four weeks after that day that Angor saw Gunmar again, this time with surprising news.

“You’re in luck, assassin.” The Underlord said with obviously sarcastic altruism and opened Angor’s cage. “You’ve been _so well-behaved_ , that we’ve decided you’ve earned the privilege of wandering _free_ alongside the rest of us.”

The way he said “free” made that sound…unconvincing. Not that the already suspicious offer wasn’t already putting up some red flags in Angor’s mind.

Moving slowly and not taking his eyes off Gunmar he took tentative steps out of the cage. “…What’s the catch?”

Gunmar chuckled darkly. “No catch…We’re just confident that you know where your loyalty should lie down here.”

Angor looked both curiously and suspiciously at Dictatious, wondering if he had anything to do with this and if so, why. Dictatious was intentional in avoiding eye contact, his face void of emotion.

Then he stared at Gunmar again, not wanting to take his eyes off him any longer than he had to. Still obviously very skeptical, Angor Rot started to walk out of the dungeon, his eyes keeping on Gunmar the whole time.

When he was out of their sight, Gunmar’s fake-“friendly” expression went back to his usual cold one.

Soon, the assassin will know his place.

 

* * *

 

 

Obviously, Angor Rot took the chance to get away from that vile Gumm-Gumm-infested camp for a long-awaited moment of breathing room. Oh, how he longed to stay far, far away from those infuriating war-driven creatures.

But something felt so off. It was too easy to just walk away. Gunmar seems sure he’ll come back, but how?

…For now, he wants to enjoy his freedom while he has it, no matter how short-lived it may be.

He wondered if any of his old dens were still intact.

Off he went.

 

* * *

 

 

How would one define “intact”?

Because if “intact” meant completely and purposely trashed, he could say his old hiding places were still intact.

This was deliberate. This was the act of Gumm-Gumms. And Angor found the same type of destruction at every old setup he had.

Slowly, he began to understand Gunmar’s intentions.

This was a message.

A message that, no matter how far Angor goes, or how long he tries to hide, they will find him.

They will find him, and if they find him as an enemy, they will kill him.


	3. Glimpsing through the curtains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for physical abuse in this chapter**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to add one more scene to this chapter, but decided it would flow more naturally to fit into the next one instead, so the sensitive content isn't as intense as this chapter was going to be.

It’s been about a month since Angor Rot’s been free of that damn cage. Alas, he was still unfortunately bound to the Gumm-Gumms by a promise of death should he try to escape.

Hmmm, death or imprisonment, death or imprisonment…the line defining which was worse was looking real blurry.

It’s been tolerable, at least for now, so until Angor had this mess, he’d stick with the Gumm-Gumms. On the up side, there is strength in numbers that would be useful here.

Well, he’d see it as an up side if he weren’t so antisocial.

The only company he’s been somewhat able to tolerate was that conundrum’s, and that’s literally only because he has a _teensy_ understanding of Angor Rot’s old home.

Not that it really seemed to matter, as the conundrum in question has basically been avoiding him ever since Gunmar caught them “socializing”.

What a stupid thing to get mad about.

 

 

He saw a chance to approach the conundrum again while Gunmar was out on a hunting errand with some troops. They’d likely be gone for a good while.

At first, Angor was just watching Dictatious from one of his self-designated resting spots, out of sight from the rest of the common-rooms. Probably why Dictatious didn’t notice him when he came into the room and set up….whatever he was doing. What _is_ he doing?

The conundrum had placed a slab of rock onto an impromptu stone table to work on, etching something into the slab. He stayed at it consistently for quite a while.

Eventually, Angor Rot moved closer and closer until he was only about a parlok spear’s length away from him. He’d tilted his head to get a better look at the engravings Dictatious was etching. Writing, he now realized…and Dictatious still hadn’t noticed his presence.

“What is that fo—”

Startled, Dictatious jumped, dropping the makeshift chisel and hammer in his hands and almost knocking the slab over too. He looked about ready to snap something vile at the being who interrupt him, but he shut himself up before even saying a word when he realized it was Angor Rot.

“..Sorry.” Angor Rot said, having forgotten about his own tendencies to be deathly silent when he moved. He picked up the tools, handing them back to the conundrum.

Very hesitantly, Dictatious took them back, saying nothing.

There was an awkward stretch of silence where Angor Rot just watched Dictatious’s eyes flit nervously from side to side.

“I don’t know what your Underlord’s problem is when it comes to ‘socializing with prisoners’…” Angor Rot said. “But the situation has changed. If I’m to be working cooperatively with you Gumm-Gumms now, then you should have no problem speaking to me like one.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dictatious eventually gave him a slow nod in acceptance of that logic, then pulled the slab towards himself again to continue working on it.

Angor Rot snorted. He looked at the etchings again. “So, what is this for?”

“…It’s… a message.” Dictatious said, tentative, as he worked. “For the Janus Order.”

“The changelings?”

Dictatious nodded.

“And it goes through the Fetch.”

Dictatious nodded again.

“And they can send things back through?”

“Yes, Angor.” Dictatious sighed, glancing up from his message again. “Why so talkative all of a sudden, after all this time?”

Angor paused to think of an answer, but just shrugged unknowingly upon coming up short.

Dictatious fought many urges to roll his eyes, and just looked back to what he was doing.

Angor Rot hummed quietly in thought and tilted his head. “…You know that chisel is misshapen, right?”

Now Dictatious paused. He gave the assassin a tired look. “I know what I’m doing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Angor Rot held out his hand. Dictatious stared for a second, rolled his eyes, then placed the chisel in his hand.

Angor Rot wasn’t sure specifically what material they formed this out of, but he at least knew it was much harder than the stone they were working with. Probably formed by some type of crystal from down here. Angor pulled out his own knife, and Dictatious snickered.

“You’re not going to do anything to it with _that_.” The conundrum said.

Angor Rot raised an eyebrow at him again, laid both tools on the table, held his hand over them, and said some kind of spell.

Dictatious’s face turned from confused to startled when a burst of purple fire overtook the tools. “What are you d--?!”

Angor Rot held up a finger to silence him, waited for the flames to die down, then picked the tools up again, each now with a strange glow. Angor took his knife to the chisel, and began to delicately chip away at it with the ease as if the crystal were suddenly made of chalk. It didn’t take him long at all to make the subtle adjustments needed to shape the chisel more suitably for what Dictatious needed.

Angor Rot spoke the previous spell backwards this time, the light dispersing from the tools so they looked normal once again, and handed the chisel back to Dictatious after sheathing his own knife. “It didn’t need much, but that should ease your work some.”

Dictatious took the tools back incredulously. “Um… Thank you… I suppose.”

Angor just gave him a nod. There wasn’t a chance for much more to be said, as the sound of Gunmar and the other soldiers’ returns echoed from afar.

With a quick glance at Dictatious, he caught yet another flinch from the conundrum before he went right back to work on that slab.

….Strange.

Hearing Gunmar demand for Angor’s presence told the assassin that there would be injured to deal with. He took another second of watching Dictatious, then went to where he was called.

 

* * *

 

 

He’d never been one much for small talk, so he didn’t really know why he was so drawn to the little conundrum. Maybe just because everyone else here was so infuriating. If he had to engage with Gumm-Gumms, he’d at least pick the one he could tolerate.

Luckily, Dictatious seemed to ease up a bit after another couple conversations. It seemed the feeling of tolerability was becoming mutual.

 

* * *

 

 

For a fruit that smells so overpoweringly awful and pungent, Gumm-Gumms sure are awful at finding and collecting them.

Cimmerian fruit, a wonderful tool that Angor had always been thankful to for keeping nyarlagroths away. Understandably, the larger home of the Gumm-Gumms needed a much larger quantity of the foul-smelling food to scent their borders well enough to repel that dangerous wildlife, but one of their biggest problems was border breaches because of a lack of this repellant.

Not only were they relying on Angor Rot for healing, they’ve lately also been relying on him to bring back the bulk of the fruit. Insisted on going alone every time, but Gunmar tolerated it since he always seemed to bring back more than his own troops ever would.

And Angor loved _any_ excuse to get away from the Gumm-Gumms for a while.

 

 

On one such return from his harvesting trip, Angor Rot had just been storing the literal fruits of his labour for later use when he’d heard the shouting.

Gunmar’s voice was clear as day, obviously. He was the one doing the shouting. The other voice wasn’t speaking near as loudly, but he recognized it to be Dictatious.

He kept his distance, not much caring for getting caught in one of the Underlord’s tantrums, but he moved just close enough so he could see what was going on without being seen himself.

“My lord, if you would please just calm down, so- so you can think about this _clearly_ —” Dictatious tried to say, but was cut off by Gunmar’s roaring.

_“That impure **will** be punished, and you will **not** change my mind of that!”_

“But to kill their familiar, it risks exposing the changeling and ruining all our planning!” Dictatious tried to reason with him, following closely behind. “You won’t know if they’ll be in public, if the humans find out, if _Trollmarket_ finds out--!”

Gunmar spun around, snarling ferociously and looming over the now-cowering conundrum. **“Then _they_ will have the pleasure of killing him that I cannot do myself.”**

His voice may have been shaking by now, but still once more he persisted in trying to reason with the Skullcrusher. “My lord, _please_ just—”

A loud crack of stone against stone broke through the air when Gunmar struck Dictatious hard across the face. Angor Rot tensed at the harsh sound.

Dictatious staggered back a few steps, cupping the struck area in two hands for a moment. The force of the blow had almost been enough to knock him over, but he’d managed to correct his balance quickly.

Gunmar snorted, short-patienced. “What is our status on rations?”

Lowering his hands from his face, folding them behind his back even, Dictatious straightened his posture and went back to a professional tone as if nothing had just happened. “We should have enough to last everyone until the end of the month, my lord.”

Snorting again, Gunmar waved him off as dismissal. “Go send out a border patrol.”

Dictatious bowed his head slightly, then walked off to do as he was instructed.

Angor Rot didn’t…didn’t know what to think about what he just witnessed. He frowned in thought, went back to stocking his replenishments, and was soon off to follow Dictatious.

 

* * *

 

The conundrum was just about wrapped up in sending out the patrol. Most of the other soldiers were gathering their supplies, he still was speaking to two by the time Angor Rot entered the clearing.

“…and be sure to re-scent the eastern border with Cimmerian fruit. Nyarlagroths have been steadily drawing closer there.” He’d said to them. The two Gumm-Gumms nodded, then went off to join the others. Dictatious had begun to head off his own way, and that’s the chance Angor Rot took to approach him.

“Are you alright?”

“What?” Confused, Dictatious paused and turned to face Angor Rot. “Of course I am. What kind of a question is that?”

Now facing each other, Angor could clearly see lacerations along his cheek from where Gunmar’s claws had caught him. He gave Dictatious a look that asked if he really needed to clarify. “I _saw_ him hit you, Dictatious.”

The conundrum’s posture stiffened a little bit, but his expression turned amused like what Angor said was humorous. “What, have you never been _hit_ before?”

“By enemies, yes.” Angor replied, not amused, arms folded and eyebrow raised. “Aren’t you two supposed to be on the same side?”

The half-smile on Dictatious’s face faltered. Now he just looked annoyed. “We _are_ on the same side.” He said curtly. “That’s the entire reason that conversation had to happen.”

Dictatious continued walking. Angor Rot paused to think for a second, but ended up following behind.

“There seems to not be much point reasoning with him, judging from…that.” Angor Rot said. “He appears to prefer using brawn over brain.”

“Well, that’s what he has me as an advisor for, I suppose.”

Angor stared hard at Dictatious. “So he berates and hits you for doing your job of advising him?”

Dictatious tensed again. “…He’s just…angry right now. He’ll see my reasoning once he cools down. He always does.”

Angor’s stare hardened further. “You’re making excuses for him.”

“ _Drop it,_ Angor Rot.” Dictatious said, now growling and glaring at him. “What do you even care about it? I’d have assumed by your _reputation_ that you can handle a little violence.”

It’s true that he’s a killer, enemy to Trollhunters just like the Gumm-Gumms are. But this path was not his choice. He lost his free will, and now he’s seeing a similar issue happening with this conundrum.

His eyes went narrow. “Maybe you wouldn’t have noticed since it was so long ago,” He continued, “but in _my_ village, such treatment of each other would _not_ be tolerated.”

Stopping in his tracks, Dictatious turned to face Angor Rot, a glower on his face.

“ _In case you haven’t noticed._ This is _not your village_.” The conundrum coldly seethed. “You have no say in what goes on down here. In fact, _I_ have authority over _you_.” His six eyes all narrowed, and he made a gesture at the patrol guards. “Go join the border patrol. _Now_.”

A rigid silence suspended between them for a moment, enough time for Dictatious to see a cold kind of resentment seep into the assassin’s expression. In turn, a whisper of fear started to form in the back of his mind, regretting his idiotic move of possibly angering yet _another_ dangerous troll, but it was too late to back down now.

“….Very well.” Angor Rot eventually said, voice as cold as Dictatious had spoke to him. That was the end of it, as he then went off to the other soldiers.

Dictatious’s next breath was let out with slow, shaky relief. At the same time, while nothing bad may have came from it this time, he’d have to make a mental note not to be so quick to anger the assassin that could end his life in a second if he so wanted.

 

* * *

 

 

Angor Rot kept his distance from the conundrum for the weeks that followed. Dictatious wasn’t sure if it was due to _him_ still being angry or the assassin thinking _he_ was still angry…probably the former. But…Dictatious _did_ know that he was starting to regret snapping at him for more than just the fear of repercussions. Despite how strange Dictatious found it, he’d actually been _enjoying_ Angor Rot’s company every once in a while. But now he messed that up, too.

 

Angor Rot would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel similarly. But if Dictatious was going to take his concern for the conundrum as a personal attack, then he just wouldn’t bother with pursuing conversation until he had figured out an acceptable way to approach him. In the meantime, the two trolls hadn’t spoken again.


	4. Behind closed doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local Animal Lover Tries To Reason With Man Who Kicks Puppies For Fun, More At 7
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning for sexual abuse in this chapter**

It had always surprised Angor to know that these Gumm-Gumms had managed to steal nyarlagroth eggs unscathed, let alone managed to raise one of their own. It wasn’t tamed, by any means, but they had been keeping it alive and somewhat under control for several years, the evidence suggests.

Despite how nyarlagroths caused him _many_ problems in the past, he had been rather interested in the idea of observing one that he isn’t in immediate danger of being eaten by.

It was just as well, because since Gunmar now knew of his people’s close ways with wildlife, most of the caretaking duties for it have fallen to Angor Rot.

So, when the creature fell ill, it was Angor Rot’s responsibility to find out why.

 

* * *

 

Armed with knowledge as he may have been, Angor Rot doubted that the new information he found out would be of any difference to the Underord. Keeping one nyarlagroth alive didn’t seem like his top priority.

Either way, he was told to report with what he knew,  so off to the throne room he went.

 

 

It’s not like this was anything out of the ordinary now, Angor Rot’s become somewhat used to making reports to this _thing_ that destroyed his home without seeming too bitter. Externally, anyways.

Just another ordinary report. He came to the throne room doors, announced his presence and reasoning for it, and got confirmation from Gunmar to enter.

He was expecting to see the Underlord lazing on his throne, yes, but he wasn’t expecting to see was his claws gripping Dictatious by the hair as the conundrum was sucking him off.

Angor Rot immediately averted his eyes once he got over the jarringness of the sight. “I can come back later—”

“ _Report_ , Angor Rot.” Gunmar demanded.

Jaw clenched, Angor Rot was still for a long moment before reluctantly stepping forwards, still not looking directly at either of them. In that time, he heard a guttural growl from the Underlord, followed by some choked coughs from Dictatious. Angor Rot only looked back at them when Gunmar threw the conundrum he was done with to the ground beside his throne, Angor tensing at the sound of Dictatious hitting the floor.

Dictatious didn’t utter a sound. Simply stood back up, taking his usual position at Gunmar’s side with arms held behind his back. He completely and very intentionally avoided looking Angor’s way. One long attentive look at the conundrum showed Angor Rot a lot of things. His clothes had obviously been torn, there were claw and bitemarks on him, and Angor couldn’t say for sure, but it looked like he’d been crying.

How he could be behaving so normally, that told Angor Rot the conundrum was used to this.

It didn’t surprise Angor. But it did disgust him.

“Well, assassin?”

Angor Rot’s attention snapped back to Gunmar. The Underlord could see the unusual moment of disconcertion in Angor’s demeanor, and found it mildly amusing. But he still wanted the assassin to get to the point already. There wasn’t even a _pretense_ of shame on his face, whereas Dictatious couldn’t even _look_ at Angor Rot.

“…Yes. About the nyarlagroth.” He eventually got himself to speak, although kept casting small glances Dictatious’s way. “The problem appears to be malnourishment. She hasn’t been getting near enough of her kind’s proper diet.”

Gunmar snorted. “You expect to waste _more_ resources on it?”

“You wanted me to find the root of the problem. There it is.” Angor Rot growled, feeling even snippier than usual. “If keeping your livestock alive is such an inconvenience to you, then why not just release her back into the wild?”

That suggestion got Gunmar to laugh, as if it were a ridiculous thought. “We have enough nyarlagroths to worry about out there. Let it suffer.” He drummed his claws along the arm of his throne. "Whether it lives or dies, it will spend its last moments serving us."

Angor Rot bit his tongue, but arguing about it would definitely go nowhere. He glanced at Dictatious again.

Gunmar had caught the glances. A half-smirk rested on his face. “If you’re looking for something to take the edge off…” He said in an amused purr, “I can assure you Dictatious is _quite_ capable.”

Angor easily caught the fearful shudder Dictatious reacted with to that statement. The assassin squinted at Gunmar, unsure of how serious he was at that…“invitation”…but his answer would be the same either way. “Not interested.”

That smirk stayed on Gunmar’s face, looked more amused, even. He started to take his leave, gesturing for Dictatious to follow. “Come, Dictatious.” He said. “We’ll be receiving another message from the impures soon.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Angor Rot watched them leave, a close eye on Dictatious who’d still made extra sure to not look at him back, and Angor could plainly see that he was limping again. Now Angor Rot knows why that happens...And now he knew for sure, just by the sound of his voice, that Dictatious _had_ been crying.

 

* * *

 

 

Orders are orders. Angor Rot _knew_ how to take orders. But he _hated_ doing it.

Especially when it involved the pointless starvation of what would otherwise be a perfectly capable creature. Their kind may have been a pain in everyone’s necks, but they are just part of the wildlife, and Angor’s people had a _respect_ for wildlife.

So _maybe_ he’d do his own hunting to keep the thing alive. But the Gumm-Gumms would never hear it from him.

It’s not like he spent much time near any of them so long as he didn’t have to anyways. So it’s likely they won’t find out.

…The only troll he _had_ been willingly spending time with, he hadn’t really talked to since they had that…misunderstanding. But after seeing what Angor Rot had, he’d been getting some stronger urges to check up on the conundrum lately.

Unfortunately, Dictatious has been going _far_ out of his way to avoid Angor Rot since that incident. Made sure to never even be in the same room as him, and if he was, he’d stick to the sides of Gumm-Gumm soldiers like glue and avoid even remotely acknowledging Angor’s existence until he had _any_ chance to leave.

Getting to speak to him alone was proving to be difficult.

It was weeks until the opportunity was presented to Angor Rot again.

 

* * *

 

 

He had hiding places. Who wouldn’t when you have to spend most of your time in a Gumm-Gumm camp? One such hiding place was in viewing distance of the throne room doors, as he had to have at least _some_ places nearby in case he were called on. It was high up enough that one would have to actually be looking for him in order to spot him. Out of sight from anyone else, Angor Rot would appreciate time to himself, usually spent whittling away at stone or wood to pass the time.

Having a good view of the door, he could plainly see when trolls went in and out.

This day was no different. He hadn’t been settled in his spot for long, but he did see when Gunmar had eventually emerged from the room, probably off to lead another hunting patrol or something. Angor Rot didn’t spare much of a glance at him, just kept chipping away at a little stone carving.

It wasn’t until about a half hour’s time later that he looked down when the doors opened again. The troll that emerged from the throne room was completely hidden within a hooded cloak, but there was only one troll that small around here, so Angor Rot knew it had to be Dictatious.

He paused his whittling, eye on the conundrum.

Dictatious looked around outside slowly before he completely stepped out into the open. He held his cloak close to himself, and started walking off. When Angor Rot could see that familiar limp in his gait again, he sighed quietly.

But he didn’t follow right away. He sat for a bit and thought about it. Was it really his place to approach Dictatious about this? The conundrum’s not wanted anything to _do_ with him for over a month, would this _really_ be the best time to try talking to him again? By the way he was just looking around, it really didn’t seem like he wanted to be near anybody right now.

Clicking his tongue while he debated his options, Angor Rot eventually sighed again, and hopped down from his hiding place to follow the conundrum.

 

* * *

 

 

There wasn’t much in the way of “scenery” in the Darklands. Mostly, it was just caves, pillars of stone, giant skulls and forsaken bones, and more caves and pillars of stone.

But, despite its mostly bleak landscape, there were the occasional pockets of caverns that held beautiful lakes, the water illuminated by the blue-green lighting of the surrounding stones, creating little chambers of turquoise light to escape from the rest of this harsh realm.

Dictatious limped into one such cavern and to the water’s edge, near where many tall stones broke the lake’s surface. As much as he just wanted to curl up in his cloak somewhere and just waste away, his logical side always won out on that internal debate.

Eventually he got his trembling hands to unclothe himself, hanging his cloak up on one of the protruding rocks. In his lower set of arms he carried his clothes along with makeshift sewing materials to fix them up, along with other rags to clean himself up with.

He sighed shakily, a wince crossing his face when the water made contact with his wounds as he stepped into the lake and sat down.

He knew that the water wouldn’t wash away the disgust he felt towards himself. It never did.

But it was still better than nothing.

He tried to steady his hands as much he could before going to work on stitching up his ripped clothes, but the task still felt like it will be a excruciatingly slow process.

Even though he was alone, he still found himself trying to force tears back. Nobody was even around to scorn him for it, and yet it’d just become such habit to try and hold it back as much as he could all the time.

But when he realized he _wasn’t_ alone, alerted by the sound of footsteps near the mouth of the cave, terror overtook him, and Dictatious shot behind one of the large stones in the water to hide.

“Dictatious?”

Is that the damned _assassin_ again? Why does he keep showing up at the _worst_ times?

“ _Go away_.” Dictatious tried his best to be stern, but he was so shaky with fear that it wasn’t played off very convincingly.

It seemed Angor Rot picked up on that. He didn’t move any farther inside, just spoke from where he was. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Angor Rot said. “I know you’re in pain. I just w—”

“Leave me alone, Angor!”

Angor paused, looking and sounding confused. “But y—"

_“LEAVE ME ALONE!”_

There was a long silence after that shout. Why the conundrum was so adamant about refusing help, Angor couldn’t seem to process. Still, he didn’t press it. He just sighed, a sliver of pity starting to form for that injured troll, and despite how it felt wrong to leave him like that, he walked away.

Dictatious held his breath until he was sure the footsteps were gone. But when he exhaled again, he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He curled up on himself, and just wept quietly in the water, the overwhelming stress and emotional turmoil getting the better of him today.


	5. Making an effort

Angor Rot hated attending meetings. Unfortunately, as he was one of their main playing cards in keeping wild nyarlagroths away, he had to attend this one. There was Gunmar, obviously, Dictatious, and some higher-up Gumm-Gumm soldiers (not that Angor could really tell them apart from the others), as well as that winged violet changeling which Angor assumed they use as a scout of sorts. The only one he payed even the smallest fraction of actual attention to when speaking was Dictatious, partially because he seemed off yet again today, having been trying to hide yet another pretty bad limp, and his mannerism of speaking had been tenser, more calculated and rigidly careful in his choice of words like saying the wrong thing might cause the whole room to implode. And, naturally, because he was the only one who tended to say anything worth listening to in comparison to the rest of the group, he was pretty much the only one Angor Rot was using to learn about the problem at hand.

Of course, the problem being discussed was nyarlagroths. It was always nyarlagroths.

So he hadn’t been paying _that_ much attention. It was all something along the lines of nyarlagroths becoming more bold about closing in on their borders, discussion of how to work around them or drive them off, blah blah blah…

“ _Assassin_.”

Angor Rot looked up from his carving, hadn’t realized that Gunmar was demanding his attention. “…What?”

Gunmar did not look impressed with his lack of paying attention. “You’re the wildlife expert.” He condescendingly said to him. “What are your thoughts?”

Not speaking right away, Angor Rot just held Gunmar’s gaze for awhile. Then he went back to his carving. “The sudden influx of trolls would obviously disrupt their ecosystem. I’m surprised it’s taken them this long to get this level of aggressive with you.” Angor Rot pointed out absentmindedly, scratching away at a piece of stone still without much of a care for the meeting at all. “You’ve taken one of the best patches of land here to be your base. It’s only natural they’d want it back.”

Gunmar just snorted at him. “ _Regardless_. Troops will need to be more viligant. And _you_ —”

“Stay on top of the fruit supply, heal any soldiers injured on patrol. I know.” Angor Rot said with a curt glance his way. “I’ll be on my way to collect more Cimmerian fruit after this.”

“Good.” Gunmar snorted again. He looked at Dictatious next. “The Janus Order are expecting new instructions by tomorrow. When will you have the message completed?”

“It’s been done, m’lord.” Dictatious responded, quiet.

Gunmar simply grunted. “I’ll find something _else_ to keep you busy, then.” He said in a low dark voice.

Dictatious bit his tongue, shuddering slightly, and he only gave a stiff nod in response. Angor Rot looked between the pair contemplatively, eyes slightly narrowed each time his gaze fell on Gunmar. But he didn’t let his annoyances show through in his tone when he made the following suggestion. “Perhaps I should take the conundrum with me this time.”

Dictatious went rigid and didn’t look up at all. Gunmar’s head tilted Angor Rot’s way, mildly curious.

“You’ve always been so insistent on going alone.” Gunmar pointed out in an inquisitive way.

“Well like you said, the nyarlagroths are getting bolder…I’ll be needing to bring back more fruit to sustain the borders.” Angor Rot reasoned, copping a glance at Dictatious who’d still been avoiding eye contact. “I could use the extra hands.”

Gunmar gave a short chuckle, then thought about it for a bit. “…Alright.” He said, looking at Dictatious too and then gesturing to the assassin. “Go with him.”

Dictatious barely managed another stiff nod, uttering “Yes, my lord” quietly and standing from his seat. Angor Rot stood too, and lead the conundrum out.

 

* * *

 

 

Throughout the first half-hour of the trip, not a single sound had been made by either troll. Angor Rot took his usual glances behind to check on Dictatious, as his limp was slowly worsening over time. Since Dictatious hasn’t even looked up once, he hadn’t noticed the glances at all.

“If you’re in pain,” Angor Rot eventually spoke up, “I can he—”

“ _No_.” Dictatious interrupted, the word coming out as much more of a nervous squeak than he intended. Clearing his throat and attempting trying to contain that anxiousness, he said, “I’m fine.”

Angor Rot held his stare at the conundrum for a while, then continued along to the path ahead. “…If you’re sure.”

Back to silence the pair fell.

It was still quite a ways until they’d come across any growing spots for Cimmerian fruit…Angor Rot kept checking back on the conundrum’s progress, and at one point glanced at his own hand contemplatively.

“…I know a place we can stop and rest for a bit.” Angor Rot eventually said after another while. “We’ll be out here for some time.”

The mention of stopping to rest seemed to make Dictatious even more tense for some reason. Angor Rot looked at him curiously, but the smaller troll still wouldn’t look at him. All Dictatious did was nod hesitantly, and it looked to Angor like he was trembling just a little bit.

That’s…strange, but Angor Rot didn’t think much of it in the moment. He changed direction, the conundrum following suit.

 

* * *

 

 

Angor Rot led him to one of the dens the Gumm-Gumms had previously destroyed, the area having been haphazardly thrown back together to resemble _some_ sort of organized enough to look like a living space. There wasn’t much, just a few blankets strewn here and there, a firepit in the center surrounded by some sitting stones, some other miscellaneous supplies scattered throughout the cave…It was just a place for Angor to avoid people every once in a while, so he wasn’t much bothered for keeping it looking perfect.

“Sit wherever you like.” Angor Rot told Dictatious as he led him inside. The nervousness his company was exuding seemed to only be getting worse, but he could see a moment’s relief on Dictatious’s face to at least be able to take some weight off. Still though, Dictatious hadn’t looked at him once. And he started trembling even worse when he sat, seeming like he was avoiding eye contact with Angor at all costs.

Angor Rot had gone across the den to get some old stored kindling for a fire, but he had his eye on Dictatious the whole time with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

The conundrum stiffened. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to control the shaking of his voice. “Nothing.” He said rigidly.

Unconvinced, Angor stared at him longer like he was trying to read the conundrum’s mind. Despite his best efforts to be still, Dictatious had begun to tremble again under the other troll’s gaze.

“…Are you..cold?” The assassin asked, confused squinting.

Dictatious shook his head, still not so much as a glance Angor’s way.

“….Hm.”

Whether or not Dictatious was being honest, Angor Rot just went back to building a fire. And by building a fire, that meant putting the tinder in place and puffing a fireball at it out of his hand. Easy.

The conundrum still trembled. Still avoided looking at Angor Rot.

Frowning slightly, the assassin got up and went across the room again, this time grabbing a blanket and bringing it back over. “Dictatious?”

The lack of a response didn’t particularly surprise Angor Rot. He moved a little closer, he wasn’t intending to _scare_ the conundrum or anything, just offer him something for a little more comfort. Maybe he should’ve been more careful to not make physical contact as he did so, but that hadn’t exactly been his main focus at the time.

What he _wasn’t_ expecting was for Dictatious to have burst into tears the second Angor Rot had touched him. The conundrum completely broke down, sobbing and cowering at Angor’s presence. Angor Rot backed up immediately at this, his eyes wide with increasing confusion and concern.

“Please don’t, p-please—! I-I don’t want to d-do this, I-I-I—” Eyes shut tight, Dictatious cried harder, his already hard to understand pleas becoming more and more intelligible. “G-Gods p-p-please d-don’t hurt m-me I’ll d-d-do an-nyth-thing else _p-pl-please d-don’t m-make me d-do th-this--!_ ”

“Wh-? Make you do _what_ …? I don’t—” Angor Rot went quiet, thinking over Dictatious’s behavior all day, the kind of treatment he’s used to expecting, and eventually, the realization dawned on him. “…Ahh…”

So _that’s_ what Dictatious thought Angor brought him along for.

Sighing quietly, the assassin moved to the seat across from the terrified conundrum to put a good distance between them, and just watched carefully with calm eyes as he waited for Dictatious to calm down.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He said in a hushed, unnaturally reassuring tone compared to his normal, trying to ease Dictatious’s frantic begging. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

It did take a while, but as the time passed and Dictatious eventually realized that the other troll had been keeping his distance, seemingly with no intent to corner him, his jumbled and panicked pleading eventually slowed to a stop, but the crying and trembling didn’t go away so easily.

Angor Rot watched him carefully the whole time. Noting that the conundrum had managed to calm down, even if it was only a little bit, he tried again to speak to him. “I swear to you, I had _no_ malicious intentions about bringing you out here.” Angor said with utmost sincerity. “It…just seemed as though you could use some time away from Gunmar.”

Dictatious was still shaking, but he at least made eye contact with Angor Rot for the first time today. He didn’t say anything, Angor wasn’t even sure if Dictatious believed his reasoning, but there was a hint of confusion in his eyes. That was mostly drowned out by the fear though.

“I won’t harm you.” Angor Rot assured him again. “I promise.”

 

It took another long while, but Dictatious had eventually calmed down enough to stop crying, even accepted the blanket from Angor Rot and had it draped over his shoulders. Cautious, but less fearful than before, the conundrum had been watching from his seat as Angor Rot had been shuffling a few more things around. The assassin had left a stone basin of water propped over the fire to boil, and while it was doing that, had gone back and seemed to be preparing some kind of herbs in a smaller vessel.

He brought the cup with him back over to the fire, moving the bowl of water away from the flames and pouring some into the cup, letting it steep for a bit.

Dictatious shrunk back a little bit when Angor Rot moved closer to him again, but the assassin made sure not to get too close and to keep his movements slow. He held out the mixture, an offering. “Here.”

The smaller troll eyed the concoction with an uncertain look, but hesitantly accepted the stone receptacle. A soft aroma wafted from the mixture, one of sweet, soothing fragrance. Dictatious soon came to realize it was some kind of tea. His eyes went to Angor Rot again, surprised. Plant life is hard enough to come across as is in the Darklands, so to share what must’ve been a very limited supply was an oddly generous gesture on his part.

“It should help you relax.” Angor Rot said in response to the glance. He’d gathered up a few more blankets and some needle and thread, and went back to his seat across from Dictatious. “Drink.”

Blinking a few times, Dictatious stared down at the tea, then back to Angor. “Thank you…” He said quietly, but clearly with genuine gratitude.

Angor Rot responded with a mannerly nod, then went on to sewing together the blankets he’d gathered while Dictatious drank his tea. He’d look up every once in a while to check on the conundrum, and at one point found Dictatious was giving him a strange look back.

“Something wrong?” Angor Rot asked.

Dictatious averted his eyes upon being caught staring. “…I just… don’t understand why you’ve been showing me such kindness. I hardly treat you with any decency, I-I thought you were still _angry_ with me, to be honest…” He didn’t want to push his luck, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. Dictatious frowned in confusion at Angor Rot. “Hadn’t I _offended_ you…?”

“Somewhat.” Angor Rot said and shrugged, taking a moment to tend the fire. “But you’re still better company than what I’m used to, and _far_ better than what the other Gumm-Gumms can offer. Why would I want to bring harm to the only troll down here that I can bear?”

Dictatious didn’t really have an answer for that. He just gave a few more confused blinks, then stared at his drink again.

They mostly spent the ongoing time together in silence, save for a small piece of conversation here or there.

“…Should we not be getting to work on collecting the fruits…?” Dictatious said after some time.

“I’ll take care of that.” Angor Rot said without looking up from his sewing. “Don’t worry about it.”

Again they fell into silence, Dictatious quietly drinking his tea while he watched Angor Rot work. He wasn’t entirely sure what Angor was sewing the blankets together _for,_ but he didn’t break the silence again to ask about that. What he did ask about was something else he’d noticed during his watching of the assassin.

“What’s wrong with your hand?”

Angor Rot paused, glancing up to meet Dictatious’s stare, and the eye contact immediately caused the conundrum to appear a little more nervous again, him breaking off his gaze. He became more nervous in speech again also. “Ah- well not what’s _wrong_ with—I mean, er—"

“It’s okay. I know what you meant.” Angor Rot said. He glanced over his right hand, adjusting the binding around it to better cover the old scar Dictatious had caught sight of. He didn’t think the protrusion would’ve been noticeable, but it seems he thought wrong. “It’s just an old wound from Killahead. It’s healed over now.”

“Ahh…” Dictatious slowly nodded, accepting the answer despite how undescriptive it was.

Seemed that was all Dictatious had to say for a while. Just as well, Angor Rot was done with his work anyways and ready to head out. He tied the threads, stood up, and Dictatious could now see that what Angor had made was a sack much larger than the usual one he’d used to bring Cimmerian fruit back in.

“Stay here and rest.” Angor Rot said as he headed for the cave’s exit. “I’ll be back soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dictatious could appreciate the alone time on one hand, as it was hard for him to come by. But on the other, being isolated out here for too long felt like a dangerous game to play. What if some Darklands creature were to weasel its way inside? Conundrums aren’t exactly known for fighting prowess… Or, even worse, what if Gunmar or one of his patrols were to find him just wasting time here?

Dictatious didn’t even want to _begin_ imagining how angry he would be.

Just as his mind had been pooling with worst-case scenarios, he jumped when he heard the noise of someone entering the den.

“It’s just me.” Angor Rot assured him as he entered, having caught the conundrum’s jumpy movement out of the corner of his eye. “No need to stress.”

Well, just him and a heaping haul of Cimmerian fruit. Dictatious’s eyes went wide at the sight of the full bag. “Great Gronka Morka. How did you get that all so fast?” It couldn’t have been more than an hour after the assassin had gone, after all?

Angor Rot shrugged. “Between you and I? There are far more patches of fertile land bearing this fruit than you Gumm-Gumms ever seem able to find. It doesn’t take me long at all to restock, seeing as I know where to look.” He admitted blatantly. “Truthfully, I could be out and back a lot quicker. I mostly just use this time to have an excuse to be away from Gunmar and the others.”

Dictatious’s brows furrowed. “Why would you tell me that? If Gunmar were to find out your little ploy…”

“Oh, I don’t think Gunmar’s going to find out anytime soon.” Angor Rot said with a paltry smirk, seeming quite sure that Dictatious wouldn’t tell. He flicked his head back towards the exit, as it was about time they should start heading back. “Coming?”

There was a small frown on Dictatious’s face, the conundrum unsure as to how he was so confident he wouldn’t rat him out…but he didn’t question it. He nodded and stood up, soreness more manageable now that he’d had time to take some weight off.

He was still limping that Angor could see though, even if it was much less so than before. “Are you sure you don’t want your wounds dealt with?” Angor Rot offered one last time.

Dictatious looked away, hesitant when he spoke. “I… I appreciate all your help. I do… I just…” He swallowed nervously. “…I-I’d rather not be, um …touched like that right now....”

That’s fair. Angor Rot nodded in understanding, said “Okay”, and didn’t press the offer any further.

 

* * *

 

 

With a newfound feeling of ease shared between them now, the trip back was a lot less tense than their walk out here. It was again spent mostly in silence, but it was easy for Angor Rot to tell the conundrum was more relaxed this time around.

“If you want,” Angor Rot said quietly as they came closer upon the Gumm-Gumm base, “I’ll take you out with me on these trips whenever you like. I’m sure Gunmar can’t complain about the ‘extra earnings’, hmm?”

Dictatious looked at him with surprise that he’d offer to share time he’d usually spend to get _away_ from everyone…He ended up managing a small nod, whispering back, “I…I’d like that…”

They didn’t say much more on the matter when they came within earshot of other soldiers. The pair had been on their way to put the fruits in storage when they’d been intercepted by none other than Gunmar himself. It was obvious that the Underlord hadn’t been expecting them back yet, as he looked mildly surprised to see them. The mild surprise turned blatant when his eye landed on the accumulation of fruit they’d brought back. “A successful harvest today, I see.”

Angor Rot nodded. “Many hands make light work, it would seem.” He saw Dictatious almost cracked a grin at the offhanded joke, but he’d been quick to stifle it before Gunmar would see.

The Underlord just let out an indifferent snort. He waved Angor Rot off idly, saying “Carry on.”

The  decent composure Gunmar showed, Angor Rot took as a good sign. He nodded first to Gunmar, then to Dictatious as they parted ways for the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Angor Rot had been correct in assuming that Gunmar would be pleased with their haul. He’d not given Dictatious a hard time the rest of the night, to which the conundrum was _extremely_ relieved.

Weeks that followed yielded similar results, and Dictatious found himself looking forward to his and Angor’s outings far more than he ever would’ve thought in the beginning. Not only was any chance he got to get away from Gunmar _gladly_ welcomed by the conundrum, but he actually found himself _enjoying_ Angor Rot’s company as time went on, despite still having moments of nervousness in closer proximities to him...

Either way, Dictatious knew he wanted to find some way to repay the sorcerer for his unexpected decency.

And he had an idea on how to do just that.


End file.
